Borrowed Boy Read online

  Something like excitement coursed through me, a sensation so odd and strong it took several moments for me to pinpoint exactly what I was feeling. Part of it was the thrill of knowing that Brendan was gay, that this sexy guy I liked was just like me. The rest of it was the absolute terror of knowing that my brother, who already couldn’t stand the sight of me, hated gays.

  Brendan gave me a puzzled look. “Dwayne?” Then, a second later, he looked alarmed. “Dwayne!”

  My attention had drifted. I focused on him again. “Huh?”

  “For a moment there, I thought you were gonna pass out.”

  “No. I’m not gonna pass out. My brother doesn’t want me around you. He thinks that will make me a freak too.”

  “Look, Dwayne, I don’t want to cause you any trouble with your family. If you want to stop hanging out with me because of your brother—”

  “But that’s the thing. I’m already like you.” I took a breath to steady myself. “Brendan, I’m pretty sure I’m gay.”

  “Pretty sure?” Brendan raised his eyebrows at me, not like in surprise or disbelief, but like he wasn’t certain of what he was hearing.

  “Since I was eleven, I’ve liked the way other guys’ bodies look. So yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m gay. And Brendan, I’m scared.”

  “It’s okay to be scared, Dwayne. Just don’t let the fear control you or stop you from being who you are. A good way for you to start is to quit using the word ‘freak’ to refer to people like you and me.”

  “BJ has never liked me. He hated me from day one. When he finds out I’m gay….” My whole body shook for a second. “I don’t even want to think about what he’ll do to me then. And my birth parents, what if they’re like BJ? What if they hate me too—?”

  “Hey, come on, guy. Don’t get yourself worked up.”

  “I don’t want my family to hate me.”

  “Okay, come here.” Brendan reached out, grabbed me by the shoulders, and pulled me to him. I was shaking again. He kissed me on the forehead, put his arm around me, and gently tilted my head to rest on his shoulder. “Chill, guy. You’re okay. It’s not like you have to broadcast your sexual orientation on the ten o’clock news. You don’t have to tell anyone else until you’re ready. But I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me.”

  Brendan’s body felt solid and muscular against me, a comfort in itself. It had another effect on me as well. I settled against him, the heat of our bodies melting together in this fantastic and wonderful way. I reached up and put my hand on his arm. The curve of his bicep bulged beneath my palm. It felt so good to me, so perfect. Brendan lowered his head toward mine. He whispered something in my ear. I couldn’t make out what he’d said, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the impulse that took over and made me turn my face to his and kiss him on the lips.

  My first kiss was perfect. Or at least I wanted it to be. Brendan had other ideas. He pulled away at once, breaking from me in this slow but deliberate manner. “Dwayne, you don’t want to do that.”

  “Yes I do.”

  “I don’t want to do that.”

  That brief, beautifully warm feeling inside me withered completely, shriveling up like a tiny lizard lying dead under a desert sun. “With me, you mean. You don’t want to do that with me. Because I’m not as old as you are.”

  “It has nothing to do with our ages. I’m not gay.”

  “But… you are.”

  “No, Dwayne, I’m into girls, not guys.”

  It was like my brain rocked from side to side in my skull. “You kissed me first.”

  “On the forehead. You were shaking a mile a minute. I was trying to calm you down.”

  None of this was making sense. I stared at Brendan for a moment, wondering what happened to the guy I’d made friends with. “Are you trying to confuse me? Are you playing some kind of game here?”

  “Dwayne, listen—”

  “I tell you I’m gay and you make fun of me. Is that it?”

  Brendan stood up, stepped away from me. He grabbed one of the framed photos, came back to the sofa, and held it out to me. It was the one of the man posing with the girl who was a Brendan look-alike. He pointed to the man and said, “This was taken five years ago. That’s my dad.” Then he pointed to the girl. “And that was me.”

  FALL OFF a skyscraper roof.

  Step in front of a speeding car.

  Get attacked by a pack of wild dogs.

  Any one of those scenarios would generate the same jolt of shock I felt staring at that picture now. It froze my arms and legs, froze my voice. For what seemed like the longest time, I could only just stare.

  The gawky girl in the picture, I now realized, was dressed sort of like a boy, in blue jeans and black sneakers and a loose-fitting black T-shirt. But there were things about her that undeniably pegged her as a girl. I couldn’t put my finger on most of them; maybe it was the slender arms, the delicate little neck, or the big, round, softly pretty eyes. But the small breasts budding under the T-shirt were a definite giveaway.

  It was just as undeniable that the girl’s face was Brendan’s face.

  After I didn’t say or do anything, Brendan put the photo on the coffee table in front of me and went back to get another photo. He held out to me the one of his dad with his arm around the shoulders of the dark-skinned woman who also looked like Brendan, who I could now see was more of a teenager than a woman. Her hair was cut short like a guy would wear it, but there was still something girlish about her. “This was me too,” he said quietly, “about a year and a half ago. I’d just turned fifteen. It was taken the day my dad and I decided I would start transitioning.”

  Transitioning. The word bounced around in my brain like a pinball without registering. My mind didn’t know what to do with it, didn’t know what to do with any of this.

  Brendan placed the photo on the table next to the first one. He watched me carefully, waiting for me to react. “Do you get it now, Dwayne?”

  No, I didn’t understand anything. The world I knew had been crashing around me for weeks, and I couldn’t take one more crash. I stood up.

  Brendan seemed surprised. “Dwayne?”

  “That’s not my name.” I gave him this look that must have been wild or crazy from the way his eyes widened. But I didn’t feel wild or crazy. I was simply tired, so very tired. “I’m Zay. Zavier Beckham. I have to go home now.”

  “Wait… hold on a second.”

  No. I tried waiting for things to get better. I tried waiting for this weird new world to shape itself into something real I could halfway live in. I’d done all the waiting I was going to do.

  Brendan talked rapidly and anxiously, followed along behind me, tried to put something in my hand. Oh, he tried so desperately. I walked out, already on my way where I needed to go, and no words or actions of his could stop me.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  EITHER AMTRAK’S Route 59 itself or the train that ran the route was called the City of New Orleans. The only thing that mattered to me was that the train made a stop in Memphis along the way to its ultimate destination.

  The train wasn’t scheduled to leave Chicago until 8:05 that evening. When I walked out of the Copelands’ building and rounded the corner, I climbed on the first bus that came rumbling down the street. I told the driver I had to get to the train station for a trip to Memphis. The driver said her route would take me within three blocks of Union Station, and to cover the remaining distance I could either transfer to another bus or walk. The streets were clogged with traffic, so the bus ride was steady but slow. After I got off at the designated stop, I chose to walk the rest of the way. Even so, I got to Union Station with nearly four hours to kill.

  There were something like twenty people lined up in front of the long ticket counter and only one ticket agent on duty at the time. I got at the end of the line, already prepared for a long wait. Several minutes later a man with a short brown beard came hurrying across the lobby. He was an Amtrak employee, wearing the same gray
-shirt-black-slacks uniform as the guy behind the ticket counter. He must’ve been on break or something, because he was carrying a big soft drink cup with the McDonald’s logo on it.

  The bearded guy sort of locked eyes when he spotted me, and I figured he was suspicious of something. He stopped right next to me, which made my nerves twang. “You here alone, kid?” he asked.

  I started to lie about that but quickly decided against it, afraid the guy would ask to speak with whoever was supposedly there with me. “Yeah, it’s just me.”

  “Where are your parents?”

  “In Memphis. I was here visiting friends, but now I’m going home.”

  “So you’re buying a one-way ticket to Memphis?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If that’s your only transaction, you don’t have to wait in line. We have self-service machines there and over there.” Bearded guy pointed helpfully, gave me a nod, and hurried off to take his place behind the ticket counter.

  Off to either side of the counter were sets of self-service kiosks, and one of them happened to be unoccupied. It was a simple enough thing for me to punch up a one-way ticket to Memphis on the computer screen. The fare was $85. I selected cash as the method of payment and fed the five twenty-dollar bills Mr. Copeland had given me into the slot one after the other. The machine spat out a five and a ten-dollar bill in change, and then it printed out my ticket and boarding pass.

  I thought about Mr. and Mrs. Copeland, but only for a moment. Nothing was going to distract me. Nothing was going to change my mind. I folded up my ticket and boarding pass, stuck them in my back pocket, sat down on a long, empty bench in the cavernous station, and settled in to wait.

  I don’t remember anything about the wait. The whole period was just one long blank spot in my life. I didn’t fall asleep; at least I don’t think I did. Maybe my brain just shut down and tuned everything out. There were a number of announcements during that time, I’m sure, but I only heard one.

  “Amtrak passengers with tickets for the eight oh five City of New Orleans, we will now begin boarding at this time from Gate Seven. We ask that you please have your boarding passes ready.”

  My heart beat a little harder as I joined the stream of people heading for Gate Seven. I was excited to be going home. The train couldn’t leave fast enough.

  THE 59 City of New Orleans chugged out of Union Station exactly on time. I had a row of seats all to myself, which was great. A bearded, middle-aged man in dark pants and blue shirt with the Amtrak logo on the pocket moved down the aisle, checking passengers’ tickets and tearing off one of the copies. After he was done with my ticket, I tucked it back in my pocket and lay down across the two seats.

  The trip took a little over ten hours. Except for two trips to the bathroom, I slept the whole way.

  THE SUN shone from the east in bold, welcoming rays as I stepped off the train the next morning at Central Station in downtown Memphis. The air was already very warm, close to stifling when it wasn’t even yet 7:00 a.m., but I drew in deep breaths of it like a person who’d just sprung free after being buried alive. With no luggage to claim and no one there to meet me, I worked my way through the mass of people to the line of waiting cabs.

  One of the drivers was leaning against the trunk of his taxi. He stepped forward when he saw me approaching. “Need a ride, kid?”

  “Yes, sir. I want to go to Honeycutt Lane. But I’ve only got fifteen bucks left. Will that get me there?”

  The man scratched doubtfully at his narrow, stubbly chin. “Not ordinarily. But you look like you could use a break, so….” He winked at me. “We’ll make it work.”

  Yeah, that was good ole southern hospitality at its best.

  COLE LIVED on Honeycutt Lane. I sat low in the back seat as the cab driver drove down the street. Many of Cole’s adult neighbors headed out for work around this time, and some of them knew me by name.

  The cab’s meter had hit $15 about ten minutes ago. True to his word, the driver flipped some switch that stopped any additional fare from registering. As he pulled to a stop in front of Cole’s house, the driver glanced back at me and said, “You’re here, kid.”

  “Thanks.” I pulled the money from my pocket and handed it to him over the backrest of his seat. “I wish I had more to give you.”

  “This is good enough. Take care of yourself, huh?”

  I climbed out and looked the front of Cole’s house over. His parents had probably left for work, but I couldn’t be sure of that. Even if they were gone, it was a certainty that Lolo was home. When the cab disappeared around the corner, I hurried across the lawn and down the side of the house into the backyard. Cole’s room was at the back of the house. I stopped at his window and quietly rapped my knuckles on the glass.

  I heard a sudden thick, muffled thump within, followed by a muttered, “Damn.” Just hearing Cole’s voice was the best thing ever. Seconds later I could see hands fumbling anxiously with the blinds. He’d never gotten the hang of raising blinds. I never could figure why his parents didn’t just replace the blinds with curtains and call it a day.

  Finally the blinds were up, and there was Cole, looking out the window, blinking through his glasses. He didn’t seem surprised to see me.

  AFTER HE managed to get the window open, Cole helped me climb in. Standing face-to-face in his room, we looked at each other. He was still in his underwear, his long, thick dreads were in a jumble, and his bedcovers were half on the floor, but he didn’t look as if he’d just woken up. His face twisted as though he couldn’t decide whether to smile or cry. “Damn, Zay. It’s so good to see you.” He didn’t bother to whisper as I’d expected, so maybe he was home alone.

  “I’m glad to see you too, Cole.”

  We hugged, and hugged some more.

  After we let each other go, we stepped back and sat on the mess of his bed. “I had to get out of there,” I said. “I couldn’t stay. Everything’s crazy. I’m never going back to Chicago.”

  “Yeah, I kinda figured you felt that way.”

  “I need to hide out in your room for a while. Can I do that? I mean… is there a way you can make that work so nobody knows I’m here with you?”

  Cole seemed to shrink in on himself, which is not a good thing for a guy who’s little to begin with. “Well, Zay….”

  “I know. I should’ve called you before I showed up here. And I would’ve called last night from the train… I just got this fantastic new iPhone yesterday… but I couldn’t find it. I don’t know what happened to it. Maybe somebody stole it while I was sleeping. Sorry.”

  “Yeah… no, it’s okay.”

  “I don’t have any money left, which… wow, I’m just thinking about some stuff I should’ve thought of before leaving Chicago. Like, I have no clothes other than what I’ve got on. Your clothes are too small for me, and I can’t exactly go out and buy more.”

  “Zay—”

  “I’ll have to figure out the clothes thing later, I guess. The money thing too. Right now I just have to stay out of sight.”

  Cole shifted on the bed, leaning closer. He seemed so tense. He started to say something, but I was feeling jittery too, and before he could speak, I was already talking again.

  “Things will be okay. After a few days, nobody will be looking for me, and then maybe I can go to my mom and dad’s house and we can be a family again, and you and me can hang out like always.” The idea of my real parents and me, together the way we used to be, was such a joyous picture in my head a grin broke across my face that felt as big and goofy as a clown shoe.

  Then, just as quickly as it rose up, the feeling dimmed, doused by a cold burst of fear. “But you could get in so much trouble if I get caught hiding here, Cole. And the Copelands, they’ll send the police. They’ll do everything to find me and bring me back.”

  “Yeah, you’re definitely right about that—”

  I shot to my feet on an explosion of nerves. “What’s wrong with me? Why didn’t I think of this stuff before I even w
ent to the train station? There’s so many ways this whole thing could blow up in my face—”

  Cole got up in a flash and clamped his hand over my mouth. “Zavier, stop talking!” he commanded. Only a second later, he seemed surprised at what he’d just done. He got over it quickly. He squared his shoulders and appeared to grow confident that he had control of the situation, the tight apprehension dropping away as his face relaxed. “That’s it, man. Chill. Cut the word vomit, please. Let your heart and your brain slow down.” He made little calming motions with his hands.

  “Sorry, Cole. I think I’m okay now.” That was a big lie. I was still shaking inside.

  “Good. Now I want you to stay that way.” He started edging cautiously away from me, backing across the room.

  “Cole, what’re you doing?” I stepped toward him.

  “No! Stay calm and stay there.” He kept moving away from me. “And I’m gonna stay cool and calm over here.” He didn’t stop until he was backed up against the door to his room. “Now I have something to tell you. I don’t know how you’re gonna take it. That’s why I’m over here and I want you to stay over there. Because if you go nuclear, I don’t want you melting down on me. Okay?”

  Bad news. It had to be really bad news, this thing Cole wanted to tell me. There was no other kind of news for me these days. “Just go ahead. Say it.”

  Cole kind of drew in on himself again, hunching his shoulders defensively. “Your mom and dad…. Mr. and Mrs. Beckham, they know you ran away from your family in Chicago. They called here early this morning, wanting to know if I’d heard from you. I told them the truth. I told them I hadn’t heard from you since you left Memphis. Then they asked me to promise that if I did hear from you, I’d let them know. I was afraid for you when I heard you were missing. I was afraid you’d get robbed or maimed or kidnapped again or something. I wanted you to be safe, Zay.” He gulped, a sound so loud it was like a bomb going off in the quiet morning. “So I promised Mr. and Mrs. Beckham that I’d call if you got in touch.”